


What a Way to Wake Up

by shakeitout



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Bruins, Hangover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeitout/pseuds/shakeitout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad wakes up the usual way until...</p><p>Comment if you think I should continue the story after this little snippet. All suggestions of a plot/prompt welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What a Way to Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic is obviously using as much real info about the players lives as I can, but some stuff has to allow creative gap-filling. Sorry if I get any real world info wrong. Sometimes I chose to ignore certain things to make it work for the fic. I make no money from this fic, and it was written purely because I love the Bruins and ship Bryler so hard. Leave suggestions and comments! They fuel the Bryler muses :)

Brad Marchand woke up absolutely freezing.  _Stupid hotels, they always blast the air conditioning so you have to sleep with the covers on in the summer._ However, being cold in the morning wasn’t a big deal; after living the road-life for many years, Brad had gotten used to it. Additionally, he woke in a bed that was not his own. Thing like this weren’t unusual after a win; the adrenaline usually kicked in and before he knew it there was a girl’s tongue down this throat. Waking up naked didn’t throw him off either. Again, this was normal. What really threw Brad off was that Tyler Seguin’s also naked body was cover hogging the soft hotel comforter next to him.  _Well at least that explains why I feel like I just slept in an icebox_. Tyler murmured something in his sleep and rolled over, slinging a large, warm arm over Brad’s bare torso. The sudden movement of the bed shifting under Tyler’s weight made Brad a little nauseous.  _Hangover. Bad hangover._ Tyler nuzzled into the pillows sleepily, shortening the already dwindling amount of space between his and Brad’s waist.  _Well, now it looks like I won’t be moving for a while._  Just as the thought popped into his brain, his entire head began to throb.  _Yeah, back to sleep._  With that, Brad shut his eyes and curled closer to his liney, relishing in Tyler’s warmth.


	2. Swiss Isn't a Language, Dumbass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The PWP chapter is coming, I promise. I needed to set it up though with this bromantical chapter.This may or may not be a longer fic. And by longer I mean more than like 1,000 words per chapter (I usually don't like to write long ones but this one is just so easy to write about!)

You know that stupid musical, _RENT_? The one with the song that goes, “525,600 minutes!” well when Brad saw the pictures of their bar tab at Foxwoods the night before that’s all he could think of. _I blame my goddamn sisters and their obsession with musicals._ $156,679.74...One hundred fifty-six thousand, six hundred seventy-nine dollars and seventy-four cents. Wow. That had to be a new record. He just kept singing the amount of the bar tab in his head to the tune of the song.

            “Did we really drink that much?” Zdeno Chara, the towering Bruins captain, asked aloud the next morning…err, afternoon.

            “I don’t even remember what I drank last night, never mind how much we ALL drank,” Bergeron added.

            “I don’t remember much of anything about last night,” Brad agreed.

            “You think a few pictures would jog your memory, Marshy?” Horton asked from the corner, waving his phone in the air.

            _Oh, fuck. Please tell me I didn’t make out with Segs in public. Please Jesus fuck tell me nobody saw me do something that could get me in serious trouble._ Brad quickly lunged for Horton’s phone and began to scroll through the pictures.

<http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6TMG7-44z1I/TrQLmJe0F0I/AAAAAAAAA9A/JLDaNiKi0tk/s640/seguin+marchand+drunk+no+shirts+drunk+drinking+partying.jpg>

<http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-18ddQw0zCN4/TrQJlhpGEjI/AAAAAAAAA84/zsd9lchbZVA/s640/seguin+marchand+boston+bruins+drunk+drinking+partying.jpg>

<http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3HP6fP7ZVu8/TrQIcEZGyaI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/YI-QMNafTzk/s640/marchand+make+out+drunk+drinking+partying.jpg>

(Those are links to the pictures)

            _Okay, I made out with a chick, that’s acceptable. Shit, this is going to be all over Google. Well I guess it already is. Maybe I should just stay of the internet for the rest of the day. WOAH, look at the picture of Tyler. He’s barley even wearing pants. Wow. That’s uhm..._ Brad’s thoughts were interrupted by Horton grabbing his phone and smirking, “Pleased with yourself, Marchand? I don’t know why you would be. She looked like a horse.”

            “Did YOU get any ass last night, Horty. DIDN’T THINK SO. Unless you and Lucic fucked again.” Lucic and Horton were one of the big butt-fucking jokes of the team. They spent a lot of time together, but not nearly as much as Brad and Tyler did. Yet, for some reason, nobody ever bothered Brad and Tyler about it as much as they bothered Milan and Nathan. _Weird. Not the point. Coffee. Hangover. We won the fuckin’ Stanley Cup._ Brad couldn’t tell himself that enough times.

            That’s all Brad kept telling himself: none of it mattered, they won the Cup. _I woke up naked next to Segs. We won the Cup. It’s okay._ Tyler was walking so slowly that he practically crawled into the private room of Foxwoods where the team was having breakfast. _Looks like the little man had some trouble with his booze._

            “Segsy, you’re alive. Good to know,” Brad greeted. Tyler had a cup of coffee in his hand before Brad could blink twice.

            “Yeah, barely. Last night was crazy.”

            “Yeah, hah, it was pretty nuts,” Brad chuckled. _If only he had woken up first._

…

            Tyler was becoming slightly depressed. This whole lockout thing SUCKED. It sucked because they had won the cup and then that awful game 7 loss to the Caps and then had to come back to reality of a lockout after a shitty season. It sucked because he missed the guys. Most of all it sucked because he was in fucking foreign country where he knew NOBODY and didn’t even speak any of the languages. Yeah, the lockout sucked.

            Tyler had started falling into a slight funk. It was nothing serious, but his playing was suffering, and he knew it. It wasn’t the same without Z, Horty, Soupy, Bergy, Marchy, and all of the other guys out there. Especially without Marchy. Brad Marchand was Tyler’s best friend on the team, and when they were apart for too long it felt like part of him was missing. _Maybe I’ll shoot Marshy a text later when I’m back at my apartment and can use the Wi-Fi. I haven’t talked to him in a while, and I’m sure he’s getting himself into all kinds of trouble._

 

Send new iMessage: Hey fucker, you causin’ all

the trouble on that side of the Atlantic?

iMessage from Marchy: You know it, dickhead. How’s Europe? Bone any blonde chicks yet?

Send new iMessage: Oh yeah, tons. I gotta

make up for all the ones that you would be fucking.

iMessage from Marchy: I bet you haven’t gotten

any ass since you got there.

Send new iMessage: It’s kinda hard to get

with girls when nobody speaks fuckin’

English is this hellhole.

 

iMessage from Marchy: Just learn how to say “Let’s

fuck” in Swiss. You’ll be all set!

Send new iMessage: …Swiss isn’t a language,

dumbass. They speak Italian, French, and German.

iMessage from Marshy: Well then you’re screwed.

Send new iMessage: Fuck off :P

iMessage from Marshy: You love me, Segs <3

Send new iMessage: Yeah, yeah whatever

you say, Marchy <3 :P

 

They talked for a little while longer about the lockout, and how Marshy had heard that things were picking up in the discussions. They might be able to salvage the season. _I need to get back to the states, to Boston, really. The off-season is rough but this is a new kind of longing for hockey. It’s just not the same_. Tyler wallowed in self-pity for a little while longer and then sucked it up to get ready for practice.

 

Finally, on January 12th they all sat around their computers and TVs, waiting to hear how the negotiations went. At one point, Tyler was dosing lazily in bed with his phone on his stomach, when it pinged with a text from Brad.

iMessage from Marshy: Lockout’s over!!! Pack your shit, fucker and come home.

Just like he expected it to be, Marshy’s text was full of cuss words and sheer excitement. Just like Marshy always was. Marshy had told him that he received an email from Fer saying nothing except “It’s done.” That was that. They were a team again. A few days later practice had started and games resumed. _Thank the fucking Lord._

…

            After the first win of the season, at the Garden, a 3-1 win over the Rangers no less, they had no choice but to go out and celebrate. It was almost like winning the Cup again; the excitement level was close enough. By the time 1:00 am had rolled around Brad, and most of the team were already three sheets to the wind…possibly worse. Tyler wasn’t sure. He was also piss drunk. They were at some bar in downtown Boston taking shot after shot, beer after beer, and all good decision making was slowly fading away.

            Finally, when Tyler saw Marchy wrap his arm around a girl was not the greatest looking, even for drunk-Marchand standards; I knew it was time to head home.

            “Marchy!” Tyler yelled over the music and laughter

            “Segs! What’s up man? I’ve hardly seen you tonight!”

            “Marchy, we gotta go! It’s late as hell and we’ve got early practice tomorrow,” the ugly girl in his lap frowned as Tyler practically scraped Brad off of his chair.

            “Butttt Segsssss come on we’re all having so much funnnnn!”

Just as Brad kept up his protesting, Chara came over and put his hand on Brad’s shoulder, “You guys better head out.” Looking around, Tyler noticed the rest of the team saying their goodbyes and shuffling toward the door.

What Z says, goes, always. Everyone knew that. _Z always protects his little ones. He’s an awesome captain._ “Alright, Z, alright, I’m going,”

 

At this point, Tyler had yet to talk to his landlord about re-renting his old apartment in Boston, so he was shacked up with Marshy until after the road trip. Tyler shuttled Brad into a cab and slid in after him. Brad’s apartment was only a short distance from the bar they were at, so before long Brad was fumbling for his keys and was being shoved gently toward his bedroom, Tyler by his side.

“Thanks for paying for the cab, Segs,” Marchy smiled as he kicked off his shoes and socks then collapsing on the bed.

“Actually, you paid. I took your wallet from you when I paid your tab back at the bar,”

“You little fucker!” Brad smiled a mile wide. _God it’s good to be home._

“Change and get your drunk ass to bed. We’ve got a game tomorrow and you’re going to be hung over as fuck.” Tyler began to pull his shirt over his head and change into basketball shorts to sleep in.

“I know.” Tyler heard Brad audibly sigh, followed by a beat of silence. “Hey Segs?” Brad asked.

“Yeah, Marchy?”

“Do you remember the night we were at Foxwoods?”

Tyler froze. Of course he did. Well, he remembered waking up next to a sleeping Brad, a sleeping **naked** Brad. Beyond that, he can’t remember a thing. “I mean sorta, I was pretty wasted though. What about it?”

“I think I told you something really important that night, but I can’t remember what it was.”

“Marchy,”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Shut the fuck up and go to bed.”

“Okay. Love you, man.” Drunk Brad was always overly affectionate.

“Yeah, yeah, you too. You little moron.” With that, Tyler turned off the light and crawled into his bed in the next room. He could head Brad snoring out of that giant nose, but that wasn’t what was keeping him awake. _Brad told me something important that night. What the fuck was it? God I was so wasted, I don’t even remember those pictures being taken. Jesus fuck why does this even matter to me so much? And why did he have to say that he loved me tonight? We’re best friends. We’re allowed to love each other…right? Oh whatever. I don’t need this now._ _Relax, Tyler._ He told himself. _Think of something good. Like naked girls. Naked hot girls. There we go._

Suddenly interested in Tyler’s dirty thoughts, his dick twitched, begging for Tyler to put it to good use. Knowing full well that Brad was dead to the world right now, Tyler pushed his basketball shorts and boxers down his thighs a little and started to rub. _Ahhh, much better. I always sleep like a baby after I cum, so that makes jerking off a logical solution, right? Jesus, Tyler stop trying to justify jerking off and just think about fucking somebody._ As he continued to stroke faster and faster, random thoughts about the night began to creep into his head. _I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk tonight. Marshy shouldn’t have either. He looked good tonight, though. If I was a chick I’d fuck Marshy in a heartbeat. If I were gay I’d fuck Marshy too. He’s little but he’s so strong. And I’m pretty sure he has a huge dick. Why am I thinking about Marshy’s dick? Oh God…almost there…_

After an embarrassingly short amount of time in comparison to his usual stamina, Tyler grabbed a tissue off of the nightstand and came into it. He tried not to made a sound as his muscles clenched and the delicious heat of orgasm rushed though him, but as much as he wanted to deny it, Tyler knew that he had whispered Marshy’s name as he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the porn. And it will be on the road, as suggested. Keep the suggestions coming they're super helpful!


	3. Talk About Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding this because I just needed to force myself to actually get this fic moving, ugh. It's been so slow-going and every time I write something I hate it and erase it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I cut it off, but I felt so guilty and just needed to post.

The next time Tyler rooms with Brad for a road trip is probably the worst night of Tyler’s NHL career so far. _Just, fuck. Such total and complete shit._ Tyler thought. He hadn’t played this badly in years. He had almost no good shots on goal, AND they lost in OT to the ‘effing Rangers. Stupid New York. He hated New York almost as much as he hated the Habs. Fuck the Habs. Basically, he was just wallowing in his own misery when he stumbled through the hotel room door, tossing his bag carelessly on the floor.

Brad was sitting on the couch; shoulders slumped, looking at his phone, a full beer sitting on the coffee table. The cap was still on the bottle, meaning that he hadn’t started drinking yet. “You want it?” Brad asked Tyler, looking up and chucking his phone onto the couch.

“Nah,” Tyler responded, walking away and plopping down on his bed, “Not really in the drinking mood.”

“Me either. I took it out, wanting to get wasted and put this damn game behind us, but I didn’t even open it before I realized that it just wouldn’t help.”

“Yeah, I feel you. I’m not really in the mood for much of anything after that,” Tyler kicked off his shoes, and pulled off his dress clothes until he was in only his suit pants and his undershirt. It was only as he slid off his socks and flopped backward into the fluffy hotel comforter did Tyler notice that Brad was in very tight flitting jeans and a fresh t-shirt, further proving that he came into the room with full intent on going out tonight. 

“I think I just want to go to bed,” Brad said standing finally and moving toward his own bed. He noticed that Tyler had curled up into a ball, clearly disappointed in his own poor performance. “Segs, come on, man, s’okay,” Brad sat down on Tyler’s bed and nudged Tyler lightly in the arm; Tyler’s was on his side, back to Brad, making it difficult to read his emotions. How could Brad help Tyler if didn’t know what Tyler needed? He felt like he had to help, no matter what. He hated when Tyler was sad, it was like a part of him started to crumble a little because they were so close.

With no audible response to his words on comfort, Brad had to settle for rubbing Tyler’s shoulder, a sort of one handed massage to try to calm his best friend. Tyler let out a sigh of relief. “Sore from that hit into the boards you took in the 3rd?” Brad asked casually, continuing to rub Tyler’s shoulder. Brad remembered the tough hit that Tyler had taken from a Ranger to clear the puck. Brad happened to get into a shoving match with the same guy about two minutes later…that was completely and totally coincidental, of course.

“Yeah, fuckin’ hurt, man.” _Well, at least he’s talking._

“Well then sit up, you fucker,” Brad nudged him again, signaling Tyler to uncurl from his version of the fettle position.

This was the most intimate they had ever gotten with each other while sober. Sure, they had shared the occasional kiss on the cheek to get some good bromantic press, but nothing more. They had never kissed on the lips, never touched any of the guy-code “no zones,” despite their fake cuddling and had never even slept in the same bed. _Except that night at Foxwoods._

Brad began to massage Tyler’s shoulders; these thoughts running through his mind a mile a minute. Tyler let out a soft, breathy noise as Brad’s strong hands worked a particularly sore spot near his neck. Unfortunately for Brad, that little gasping sound was the hottest thing he had ever heard and his dick began to stir against his ever-tightening jeans. _Talk about intimate,_ Brad thought as he continued to put pressure in that area on Tyler’s back.

 

Tyler, eyes now closed and mouth slightly agape, had begun to loose himself in the feeling of Brad’s soothing hands when he heard Marchy’s familiar baritone softly asking, “Segs?”

“Yeah, Marchy?” his voice more gravely than usual

“That night…at Foxwoods…”

 _Oh, shit._ Tyler’s body attempted to stiffen with concern, but he was Jell-O in Brad’s hands right now. He could only reply, “You tried to tell me something about it the other night, the last time we played New York. You were wasted.”

“I remember what I was trying to tell you,” there was a pause while Brad gathered his thoughts. _You know what, fuck it. If this is the direction we’re going, then so be it._ “That night, at Foxwoods, we slept together.”

This time, Tyler’s body really did stiffen beneath Brad’s hands, but then he hit that spot again and Tyler couldn’t help relaxing and leaning back into Brad’s touch. “I, uhm, I think I knew that. I woke up before you did, and ahhhh,” Brad dug in particularly hard at a knot in Tyler’s lower back, “I uhm noticed that we were…uhh…cuddling and then went back to sleep.”

“I must have woken up right after, cause the same thing happened to me. I didn’t know if you remembered, you were pretty wasted.”

“We were both naked,” Tyler pointed out the elephant in the room. Did they have sex? Did either of them remember? Did they even want to talk about it if they did?

“I don’t think we had sex,” Brad said carefully, waiting to gauge Tyler’s response.

“I didn’t either, but I couldn’t really remember.”

 

Brad was now painfully hard; Tyler’s little gasps and sounds were only making it worse and worse. Suddenly, Brad stopped the movement of his hand; Tyler had to stifle a whine at the loss of contact. Tyler turned around to see why Brad had stopped, only to see the clear strain against Brad’s jeans, eliciting a jolt in Tyler’s own crotch.

“Ty, can I uhh try something?”

_He called me by my first name, that never fucking happens unless he’s serious, even if he only shortened it to Ty._

“Yeah, I, uh…go for it,” Tyler’s heart was beating faster than in game seven of the Cup final. He knew Brad was about to make a move, yet he still felt like a blushing virgin when Brad’s soft lips began to make their way up his stubbly jaw line.  “Mmmm,” Tyler murmured; he could feel Brad smile against as their lips finally connected for real.

 

It was just a tentative brush, testing the waters, but they both undoubtedly felt the same jolt of fire in their skin, because they practically dove back in for more, less than a second later. Hands were all over each other, Brad’s roaming the expanses of Tyler’s muscular arms, and Tyler’s cupping the stubbly face of his best friend.


End file.
